Tourniquet
by D-chan
Summary: slight MajicOrphen :: detailed suicide attempts, blood, very mild shounen ai, angst :: No matter how hard he tries, there's always one thing that holds him back...


**:: Tourniquet ::**

_~Sorcerous Stabber Orphen~_

Disclaimer: I don't own Sorcerous Stabber Orphen or any of the characters. Rights go to Sawada Hajime, Akita Yoshinobu and ADVision.

The title comes from a song by Evanescence; the title also doesn't belong to me, or the song. .;

Rating: PG-13

Pairings: slight Majic+Orphen

Warnings: detailed suicide attempts, blood, very mild shounen ai, angst

Notes: This is what happens when I'm at the computer, without pencils to draw with, and I'm extremely depressed and upset. Wildly OOC on Majic's part, possibly, and overall darkness contained within. It's just... dark. And depressing.

Tch. Trust me to be depressed on my spring break. How weird...

It was simple and clean. The knife was sharp, glinting in the pale, flickering lamplight of the room. It was sharp, of course; his father had had to keep them sharp for clean, efficient cutting of food. No customer knew that the knives that cut their food had once had a boy's blood spilled over the shiny blades, and somehow that was all the more gratifying. That was why he had made sure to take one with them on their journey. He knew it would come in handy someday.

A shiver ran down his spine as he placed the sharpened blade on the thin, pale skin of his wrist. A few very faint, very faded scars decorated that arm, proof of earlier violation. With a quick, simple motion, the cold metal slid over his arm, breaking the delicate flesh and opening a tiny crevice. The river was blood, crimson and dark, flowing in steady trickles down his arm. Drops fell from his body to his clothes, staining his pants and the floor beneath him.

Rather than drop the knife, he pressed the dull side into his wound, splitting it further to allow more of his liquid life to flow free from its earlier confinement. A tiny flicker of pain crossed his face, but it hardened a moment later. He refused to cry. This was intentional pain.

His body seemed happy, at first, to free the blood that kept him alive and breathing. After a while, though, he knew it would grow alarmed and automatically try to stop it. He'd chickened out of this before that way-- he couldn't afford to do it again. Not tonight.

Behind him his master slumbered, completely unaware of the entire event. It only served to make him angrier, though what rationale was left in him pointed out there was no way Orphen could know he was so depressed all the time. After all, he spent a good deal of his time putting forth a cheerful front, subtly assuring them he was okay. But the childish part, the piece of his soul that sobbed for deliverance, was furious that he refused to notice. Narrowing his eyes, the boy pressed the knife in deeper.

He was lost now. Lost in the stinging, agonizing pain that spread throughout his entire arm, engulfing it in white-hot sorcerous flames. It hurt, and a savage bit of him was glad. His body was hurting now, feeling the pain he so often felt in his heart.

But it wasn't even scratching the surface of that pain. He inhaled quietly, shakily, trying not to wake his teacher. Should be do that, Orphen would try to stop him, and he's heal him, and then he'd know and make sure he'd never do it again. Never, never...

_It's. All. His. Fault, thought the boy._ Clenching azure eyes shut, he summoned the courage to dig the knife in that much deeper. His breath hitched with intense pain, and he nearly dropped the knife. He tried again, and this time he did drop it. It clattered to the hardwood floor, and he winced, but Orphen didn't stir. He breathed easily.

The hand that had previously been clutching the weapon went to his arm, tracing the deep-set wound. He had to bite his lip to stifle a whimper of pain. He had to release torture on his body; that was the only way he could make it repent for the agony it refused to take with his heart.

The wound was long, trailing from his wrist to within an inch from the crook of his elbow. Red stained black in the darkness of the room continued to pour down, dripping and falling to the floor with soft splashed barely even heard. He couldn't hear anything over his ragged breathing, which he tried to hush for the sake of finishing the act.

He staggered up, stumbling in his bare feet to the bathroom. There he could run water over the wound, keep it open, mix it with his blood and thin it out... And eventually, he would die. And if he was lucky, Orphen wouldn't notice a thing.

Once in there, he leaned heavily against the counter, wincing as his tender arm came into contact with hard maple. He raised his head, staring back at the pale, sweating face in the mirror. Cerulean eyes were dim with depression, a deep-set emotion that, once rooted, was hard to remove. He vaguely wondered if it showed through his false smiles, but quickly put it out of his mind.

He turned the tap on, quickly shoving his arm beneath it to muffle the sound of flowing water. His eyes shut, dark blonde lashed fluttering on his face. He imagined he'd see blackness, and endless void of nothingness... but what he got were images-- or rather, _an_ image. A scowl, a glare, a set of slanted, catlike eyes, a voice of harsh rebuke but underlying tenderness... and he couldn't sake the image.

_No,_ he thought, cringing. _You always do this! Leave me alone, leave me alone... leave..._

Without his conscious knowing, he reached out and slowly turned off the tap. When his eyes opened again, he was staring down at his soaked, bloody arm. The wounds glared up accusingly, as though to say, _You__ stupid coward. Finish the job! Finish and be done with it!_

A second shiver coursed through his thin, trembling frame. Teardrops clung to his lashes, finally letting go to leave bloodless trails on his face as he silently cried. His knees were weak, and his head ached, but he couldn't do much more than crumple to the floor and sob quietly. His face tingled, not an entirely pleasant feeling. Majic gulped in air, blindly groping for a hand towel. He finally gave up and struggled from his pajama top, wrapping the cloth firmly around his arm and pressing hard to stop the bleeding, forming a tourniquet. Free tears still shed, and he couldn't make himself stop even as he stood and edged back into the room.

One glance at Orphen's bed told him his master was still asleep. He breathed a tiny sigh of exhausted relief, wiping his face as he crawled into bed, still with his arm tucked beneath him. His breathing was laboured. He closed his eyes, begging for sleep.

"What attempt does this make, Majic?"

Somehow he wasn't surprised to hear the nasal voice cut through the night. The boy -- Majic -- pulled his sheets around him tightly as he murmured, "The seventh, Oshou-sama." So he had known all along... Majic should have realized he would. After all, Orphen missed virtually _nothing_.

"Does it hurt?" Majic heard rustling from the other bed, and didn't fight when Orphen made his way over, rolling his apprentice over so he could meet his eyes.

"Of course it does," the boy whispered through his tears, half horrified that he _still_ couldn't stop crying.

His throbbing arm was seized; Majic winced as Orphen unwrapped the bloodstained cloth. He knew his teacher didn't have to remove it to heal him, but he didn't argue all the same. There was the soft murmur of an ancient sorcerous spell, and a warm feeling engulfing his practically numb limb.

Still Orphen didn't release his arm. He traced a tanned finger over the several scars, not tearing his gaze from Majic's as he said, "I really wish you wouldn't do that. You have fair skin; you'll mar it's beauty." The words seemed strange, coming from him, and if he'd had enough blood left to do so Majic would have blushed.

"Yes, Oshou-sama," he whispered.

No more words were exchanged. Orphen's touch fell from him and he backed off, leaving Majic alone once again in the darkness. It was a warning; caution. Majic couldn't have any secrets, not with Orphen around. Not even secrets about his feelings.

Breathing a shaky sigh that wasn't quite relief, Majic clutched the material of his blood-soaked night shirt. Again, the attempt had failed... and it would be harder next time, knowing that Orphen was enlightened to this act. He was trapped and unable to escape.

He drifted off clutching the makeshift tourniquet, ignorant to the scrutinizing stare burning into his back from the other side of the room.

**:: Owari ::**


End file.
